he’d seen many times before. All he’d been able to do was run; but he knew already there was no running from himself as the memories came back.
He could smell the blood. Her blood. And Tommy closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired. It’d been a long night. Even though it was cold, he could feel the sweat on him. He could see it on her naked body. The room lay silent now. She’d given up screaming. She could see it was pointless. He wasn’t going to let her go. It was only going to make things worse.
‘Tommy? Tommy?’
His mother was speaking to him with a worried look on her face. He snapped at her, jarred by being brought back to the present.
‘Fuck me, where’s the bleeding fire.’
‘Ain’t no fire son, only my words falling on deaf flipping ears. Where’ve you been? Next time take me with you.’
‘Believe me, Mum; you don’t want to go where I’ve been.’
His mother grinned at him and got back up to make another brew. He turned to Maggie who was sitting back in her chair and quietly watching him. They held each other’s stare for a moment. Then Maggie spoke quietly and quickly before their mother came back to sit down.
‘Tommy, whatever it is; I’m here. It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is: if you need to talk, I’ll listen.’
Tommy stood up and moved around to his mother, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
‘I’m off out. Dad wants me to do some bag money with him.’
‘Be careful Tom, give me a call on my mobile. Let me know you’re alright.’
He smiled at his mother, then looked over at his sister and nodded before turning away with a leaden feeling in his heart.
Gypsy Taylor stood in the hallway and cursed Frankie under her breath for not getting the maintenance guy to fix the squeaking sound on the front door. It was ridiculous, she’d twice tried to open the door to sneak out, and twice the creaking sound had echoed around the hall as if she’d set off a box of Chinese firecrackers.
What was she doing? She hadn’t acted like this since she was a teenager, hiding before sneaking out of the house, but she had somewhere to go that she couldn’t cancel. She’d an evening appointment. They hadn’t had anything else for over a month, so she’d taken it.
She was in two minds whether or not just to go and tell Frankie she needed to go out for an hour. The problem was she knew he’d want to know where she was going; hell, he might even want to drive her there himself. She couldn’t tell him and she certainly couldn’t have him taking her there.
There’d been enough rowing since Lorna had arrived and as much as Gypsy had a gob on her to rival the firing of the cannons in the Battle of Trafalgar, she hated having cross words with Frankie.
She loved her husband but she wished he could see what a stirring old cow his sister was. More than that, she wished he could see she also needed her freedom.
There wasn’t any part of her inclined to run off with the nearest fella; Frankie satisfied her in every way possible. She just needed to feel she owed her life a bit more and she wasn’t just an extension of all his business empire. There’d never been anyone else, well not really. Not anyone who counted.
The clock in the kitchen chimed out. It was eight o’clock. If she stood there any longer she’d miss her appointment and be back late.
Gypsy knew nine thirty was her safety net to be back by. Frankie was as regular as her old Nan’s bowels when it came to watching the poker championships on Sky which had already started. Nothing could budge him once he’d tuned in. He’d often joke about it telling her, ‘If there’s a fire babe, leave me till last, just let me finish watching the game.’
The poker finished at ten fifteen so it gave her plenty of room. She was only popping close to home so there was no panic about having to catch a bus or tube back. It was close enough to walk to and close enough for her hopefully not to be missed.
Bracing herself, Gypsy opened the door, trying to ignore the loud creak. She quickly looked around, making sure nobody had been disturbed within the house and once she saw the coast was clear, she hurried into the street.
After a few minutes Gypsy decided to cut through the backstreets to avoid the throng of people who seemed to be going nowhere fast. She was wearing open-toed Jimmy Choo sandals, so the last thing she wanted was to have her feet trampled on like bunches of grapes at harvest time.
It started to rain and Gypsy swore loudly. She didn’t know why because it wasn’t as if the British summer did anything besides rain. But each time the heavens opened she acted surprised as if bad weather was a new phenomenon in the country.
It began to get heavier and Gypsy ran for cover under the doorway of some newly refurbished apartments. She’d been too busy trying to sneak out without being caught to even think of bringing an umbrella. Now she had a choice of whether to get soaked or spend the rest of the short time she had stuck beneath the building.
Gypsy sighed, and as she did so she thought she heard someone cough. She looked down the deserted street, her eyes darting across the square. Even though she couldn’t see anyone, she got the distinct impression she was being watched.
Although it was early summer it was already dark from the stormy sky and she decided to brave the rain rather than stand there. Pulling up her silk jacket she began to walk down the alleyway, quickly turning around to make sure no one was following her. Halfway down she looked back again. Her heart pounded as she suddenly caught a glimpse of someone lurking in the shadows.
Automatically she went into her bag to phone Frankie. Then stopped. What was she doing? She couldn’t possibly phone Frankie or any of his men like she normally would’ve done. Usually if she needed anything, Frankie was the first person she’d call. He was always coming to her rescue if she needed him to. Whether because she’d bought too many clothes in the shops and had loads of bags to get home, or she was caught in a downpour coming back from the beauty salon, or like now, when she felt afraid; Frankie would be there. But for the first time in years Gypsy found herself alone. And she didn’t like the feeling at all.
Gypsy quickened her pace, determined not to give way to the panic which was rising within her. She was being silly, she was sure of it, but her imagination was starting to get the better of her.
She didn’t want to be conscious of her racing heart, her dry mouth and the sick feeling rising in her stomach. She wanted to run but her fear seemed to be slowing her down. She couldn’t think straight but she knew she had to keep walking; keep going towards a place where there’d be people.
It sounded like the footsteps were getting closer, nearer, and any moment she was going to feel a hand grab her by the shoulder. Imagination or not, Gypsy began to run.
She stumbled along the alley, putting her hand against the damp brick wall to hold her balance and stop herself from tottering over in the high shoes. Drips of sweat ran down her back and the sound of Regent Street seemed further away than ever. The tears began to run down her face, misting her eyes and making it harder for her to see ahead as the rain poured down.
She couldn’t hear anything apart from the sound of the steps behind her, loud and exaggerated. Gypsy saw the end of the alleyway and to the left of it was a stone flight of stairs. If she could get to them she’d be safe. She started to pick up her pace which was a mistake; her ankle bent to the side and she began to topple over. Reaching out in front of her to try to stop herself from falling, Gypsy’s hand touched a stack of disused crates. The moment she touched them they clattered to the floor, blocking her way. As she scrambled over them she felt a pull on her leg and instinctively let out a scream before realising her tights were snagged on the crates. Not caring if she tore them or not Gypsy